The Traveller
by Nordic Hobbit Joe
Summary: Is fate going to cut Graden a break? Please read and review.
1. The Beginning

The morning mist was slowly ebbing back through the pine trees as the sun climbed higher into the early autumn sky. There were several small, crudely built log houses arranged around a central meeting area. A fire pit in the middle of the meeting area had several embers still glowing and a narrow plume of white smoke issuing from the center. The night previous, a heated debate had occurred in which the topic of discussion was who would go to Urû'baen and go through the trial of King Galbatorix to join him in the capitol. The small settlement of Blakenford was several miles within Du Weldenvarden, ten leagues west of the familiar town of Carvahall. The vast majority of the villagers in the settlement had supported the rebellion, except several shady folks that had traveled from towns in the south. Particularly one typical young man of twenty years whose father was from the south lands, and his father glorified Galbatorix when he wasn't drunk from homemade moonshine, or recovering from yet another hang over. Growing up with false knowledge of Galbatorix made his opinions severely opposite than those who actually experienced his rule. The name of the young man was Graden, five feet ten inches tall, medium build but a bit on the thin side, grayish-blue eyes, but the distinguishing quality to him was his stark white hair. It was this unique young man who had volunteered to go. He was supported only by several people, one being his father, but his mother grew up in this the village and she did not support his choice to go because she knew what a slimy bastard that the "King" actually was. But Graden was resilient, and after much arguing and yelling, his mother decided to let him go.

That early in the morning, no one was there to see him off. He shouldered his heavy pack, his supplies being: a week's worth of food, canteen, sack of gold, hatchet, bedroll, journal, quill, ink, flint, and a tinderbox. On his pack, a bow and quiver was attached to the side as well. His father's sword was belted to his left side, and a long dagger on his right and on the back of his pack was a three-foot round shield. Graden took a deep breath, shrugging up his pack a bit more, and put on his ragged wide-brimmed hat. He traveled south for five days. At last he breached the edge of Du Weldenvarden, and the sight took his breath away. On his right, the way he would be going, lush green grasses and the occasional tree, on his left was the seemingly endless Hadarac Desert. Far over the desert, tall dark storm clouds loomed menacingly over the sand, throwing thick bolts of lightning to the ground. Low rumbles reached his ears a while after each bolt of lightning hit the ground. Graden walked to his right until he came upon a road, which ran southeast. He would take that to the lake named Isenstar, where, hopefully, he would find someone willing to sell him a rowboat or canoe, something to get him up the Ramr River, from there it would be a relatively short trek to Urû'baen. The sun was low in the sky, and Graden decided to camp on the side of the road this night. He arrowed several hares and roasted them on a spit, hanging the pelts and the leftovers from his pack. He woke up to the first rays of the sun, glaring at him from over distant mountains. He drank the last of his canteen, kicked dirt over the last heat of the fire, shouldered his pack, and headed off along the path.


	2. The Canoe

It only took Graden a few hours of a leisured pace to get him to the shores of Isenstar. No wind disturbed the surface of the lake, which was placid and smooth as glass. Several small huts dotted the shore, many of which had a boat near on the edge of the lake. Graden walked over to the nearest hut, one with a dilapidated dock jutting into the waters, but with a nice, fair-sized, seemingly nice conditioned, canoe tied to the end. He approached the door and knocked lightly on it. A few seconds passed, and Graden thought of knocking again, but someone had approached from behind him.

"What d'you want?" an old man asked him in a hoarse voice.

"Good morning sir," Graden said politely, removing his hat, "I need to get across the lake and I was wondering if you would sell your canoe to me."

"What would ya need to be goin' 'cross that lake fer?"

"I am on a quest to get to Urû'baen, but I need to get across this lake, and I was wondering if you would be so kind as to sell me your canoe."

"Son," the man said, taking a few steps closer, "do I look like I'm in any state to be usin' that canoe?"

Graden looked up and noticed that the man's eyes were a milky white. "No sir, so what do you want for it?"

"What do I want for it? Hell, you'd be doin' me a favor just takin' it."

"For truth? Thank you very much sir!" Graden replied shaking the old man's hand with fervor. The old man patted him on the shoulder and stumbled off mumbling something under his breath.

Graden couldn't believe his fortune! Every piece of gold was still in his wallet, and he was given a canoe. He walked over to the dock and his spirits sank a bit. The dock was so rotten that he didn't know if the boards would hold his weight. He set his pack down as well as his hat, unbuckled his sword and dagger, and set out on his little side quest of getting the canoe. The first few boards gave protesting groans at each tentative step he took. Halfway out, the boards stopped making noise, and Graden took more confident steps. Near the end, by the canoe, the boards were completely rotten, but Graden was not watching the boards, he was excited at his proximity to the canoe. At his next step, his leg broke through up to the knee. He struggled to pull it out, and once again, his attention snapped back to the boards. The next step was risky, as the board groaned and creaked threateningly, and once the noises stopped, he let out his breath. He tried taking another step, but his resting foot broke through, and his body fell forward, breaking through the rest of the boards.

It was repulsive under the dock, slime and algae clung to the posts, and all sorts of bugs and spiders made the underside their home. Graden surfaced, spitting mouthfuls of water out and treading. It took him a few seconds to get his bearings, then, he swam over to the canoe, his face getting entangled in a spider web and a big hairy spider. Graden just about lost his cool, but he calmly flicked the spider off and rubbed the web off of his face. He wasn't a big fan of spiders since when he was a small boy trying to go to sleep, and a large hairy spider started crawling on his face and put several legs in his mouth. His parents were amazed at how loud he could scream, and it was a blood curdling one at that.

The rope holding the canoe to the dock was in good a shape as the dock itself. When Graden tried to untie the rope, the fibers disintegrated in his hands. Holding the remains of the rope in his hand, he swam back to shore with the canoe in tow. After beaching the canoe, he pulled a paddle out of the bottom and set his pack in the front. It was just about one rod long, and amazingly, it was made out of aluminum. Another stroke of luck. He got a little worried though, as his father once told him that with good luck, somewhere along the line, bad luck is there to balance out. Graden was a superstitious fellow, and he took that concept to heart. Setting his sword and dagger in the center of the canoe, he peered up at the sun, directly overhead. He was just about to heat up some of the hare meat, when the blind man came back out and asked him if wanted some lunch before he set out. Graden complied graciously, and ate a stew of vegetables and some sort of fowl. By the time he was ready to go, his clothes were completely dry. He set his hat firmly upon his head, thanked the man for the food, and walked over to the canoe.


	3. Enslavement

There was naught a breath of wind yet or clouds in the sky for that matter. Graden set one foot in the canoe, and pushed off with the other. The canoe easily sliced through the glassy surface of the water, and Graden breathed in the moist air as he paddled along. He concluded that he would stick near the shore in order to stay in one direction, and he wouldn't have too far to go when he was done for the day. Unfortunately for Graden, he would never make it to the Ramr River. After his first day of canoeing, he camped, ate some cold hare, and set off again. The second day, like the first, had no wind, and he never saw the shallow bar stretching into the lake, and rammed straight into a rock, which punched a small hole in the bottom of the canoe. _Bad luck balancing the good,_ Graden thought as he quickly and furiously paddled to the shore.

The hole was a small one, but still big enough to cause a problem. He took his pack out as well as his sword and dagger and pondered as to how he would solve this problem when a small train of people arrived on the horizon. He was relieved, he figured they would help him, but he still slipped his dagger in his boot. As they got closer, he made out four of them were mounted on horses, and half a dozen or so were behind them, keeping an even pace with the horsemen. Closer they got, and at last he saw that the ones on foot were bound by the wrists, and the rope stretched and looped around the neck of the one in front of the other. Blindfolds were around their eyes, and rope gags in their mouths. Graden tensed as they approached and came to a stop.

"Good day sirs," Graden said, "I'm having troubles with my boat here and I was wondering if any of you would be able to help me make repairs."

The horsemen turned and whispered to each other. At last they must have come to a conclusion and the tall thin one from the front approached him whilst the others dismounted and surrounded him. Graden watched tensely as the thin man came up and took a length of rope from his pocket. Then, from someone behind him, he was hit in the back of the head and immediately, Graden was unconscious.

When Graden opened his eyes, he thought he was blind. All that he could see was darkness. After sitting up, his head throbbed mercilessly. He tried to put his hand to his head, but his hands were bound together in front of him. Then he figured that he must be blindfolded…which was exactly what the others were like.

"Don't try anything," somebody to his right whispered, "they'll cut your throat if they think you're up to anything. There were seven of us before you, but a buddy of mine started freakin' out, so they cut his throat from ear to ear and left him for the buzzards."

"Hey shut up over there!" a voice from behind yelled.

"What do you people want?" Graden yelled, head still pounding.

"Naïve lad, must come from the northlands."

"I said WHAT THE HELL DO YOU PEOPLE WANT?"

"Feedin' time," a different voice said angrily. Rough footsteps came over to Graden and paused. The wind got knocked out of him as a thick boot went into his stomach. Graden curled up coughing heavily trying to get his breath back. A gloved hand grabbed his neck while the other hand grabbed his jaw, forcing his mouth open. He finally got his breath back when the man roughly shoved a large, stale piece of bread, then quickly tied a strip of cloth around his mouth. Graden was reduced to breathing through his nostrils while working on masticating the bread. It was very rancid tasting bread, with the occasional furry texture along the surface, and he was pretty sure that he felt something crawl across his tongue and rest on his palette. Nevertheless, after all the bread was down, he pressed his tongue against the bug and felt more than heard the sickening crunch and felt the wet insides seep on his tongue, and finally, he pushed the remains to the back of his throat and swallowed it all down.

The bug left an extremely bitter and gritty aftertaste in Graden's mouth. His stomach was quite queasy and he lay on his back, groaning quietly. His groans increased in volume until, five minutes later, he reached up with bound hands, ripped off the cloth covering his mouth, and vomited all of his stomach content to the side.

"Ohhhhhhh...I don't think someone cared too much for their bread," a gruff voice said in a babyish voice, "well maybe he'd like a little refreshment." Footsteps approached and once again, Graden was grabbed by the jaw, mouth open, and the man poured water on his face, some getting into his mouth. Graden coughed, and sent his first mouthful down his front, at least getting rid of the acidic tasting vomit remains out of his mouth. He drank down the rest of the water poured on him, then fell back and drifted off to sleep.


	4. The Ship

Graden was awoken rudely by a bucket of water to the face. He sat up sputtering, and someone immediately made him bite a piece of rope and tied it tightly around his head. Due to the blindfold, Graden had no idea what time of day it was. His wrists were held, and he was roughly walked over to the end of the line and an additional length of rope was tied around his wrists and to the neck of the person in front of him. For many nights, it was the same schedule. Wake up, be gagged and lined up, be marched mercilessly until night, be roughly fed and watered, sleep, and the cycle repeated. Later, he was told that they made their way west to a mountain range known as The Spine. From their, they followed the edge of The Spine south until they reached the Toark River, a two week journey.

Their little troupe lost one of their members on the twentieth day of their journey, not so much lost him as he was taken from them. One of the slaves had stumbled and cut his thigh a week before. After the dirt, bugs, and bacteria had their way with it, the leg had swollen, turned green, and secreted a thick sickly yellow-green fluid at every step that the man took. The infection in the leg grew worse until the man claimed he couldn't feel his foot. It started to rot, and a useless stump decreased the usefulness of a slave. The crippled man was made the last in line, right behind Graden, as the infection spread. The drivers got sick of him, and they cut the rope connecting the man's wrists to Graden's neck. Before he could ask what was going on, they took a knife to the man's throat, sending a warm spray on the back of Graden's head and neck. The group moved on, with the man coughing and gurgling behind them. Eventually, either the dying man was out of earshot…or he was already dead. Either way, Graden couldn't hear him, and he was content not to hear him, as it was his first experience with death.

Every few days, they were allowed blindfolds off for an hour or so, and the last couple days, they were allowed to have them off for longer and longer. Finally, they reached the Toark River, and camped until nightfall. In the dark of night, everyone was woken up and marched to the river's edge. After a short while, a small black ship drifted down and beached near their location. A ramp descended from the starboard side, and the slaves were led aboard, followed by the horsemen. They drifted down to Woadark Lake, and finally to the ocean, where they docked on the coast. They were fed before being led onto a larger ship, where their gags and blindfolds were removed, and all released into the main cargo hold. They were surprised by the fact that they weren't the only ones in the ship. At least fifty other's milled about with hands bound in front of them. Throughout the entire journey to the coast, Graden never forgot about the dagger in his boot.


	5. Liberation

After a short while, the ship brought up anchor, and they began their seven day journey down the coast to the island of Illium, where it was rumored that Galbatorix was training half men-half beast soldiers, and spared no expense for slaves that the soldiers would hunt and massacre. When Graden heard this, he knew now was the time to get out of there. The next night, Graden put his plan into action. After the guard came and checked to see they were all asleep, which Graden feigned, he slipped his boot off and unsheathed the dagger. He picked it up and carefully sliced the rope binding his hands and slipped them off. Each rope was sliced off of the wrists of every person in the cargo hold and everyone sat still in their beds for the guard to come back. One guard came down every thirty minutes to make sure they were all behaving. For the guards, once every thirty minutes was too often, for their slaves were bound by the hands, so what could they do?

A simple step ladder led down from the upper deck, and Graden stood in the shadows behind it. It seemed like hours until the next guard came to check on the slaves, but the guard started stepping down the ladder. When the guard's right foot came down, Graden put his hand near it, and when it started moving, he snatched it, and the owner grunted, stumbled, and crashed noisily to the ground. Immediately, the guard was rushed by half a dozen slaves, particularly one large, muscle-bound blonde fellow who grabbed the guard by the head and put his hand over his mouth. The guard tried screaming for help, but the brute's hand greatly muffled the cries. In desperation, the guard bit down hardly on the man's hand, who grunted in pain. The man moved the guard's head under his right armpit, wrapped his right arm around the guard's neck, put his left hand on his chest, and snapped the guard's head back. The guard's arms and legs stopped flailing as his neck made a sickening crunch as the vertebrae were crushed.

"Name's Bründ mate," the burly man whispered, offering a hand to Graden.

"Graden," he replied, shaking Bründ's hand hesitantly.

Bründ took the sword from the dead guard, and someone else took his knife. The slaves sent forward their smallest member. The boy was young, maybe fourteen years old, and thin, as well as awkward, a very lanky person. They gave him the knife, told him to distract the other guards. Their whole plan included taking over the entire ship. The boy took off his shoes, and they bade him good luck. Soon after the boy took off upstairs, they heard frantic voices and feet scrambling. Numerous shadows passed the trapdoor, and the group made their way up, with Bründ in the front.

"Get back with the rest," a voice said.

"Grab him, he's just a boy."

"OW! SHIT! He's got a knife."

They crept closer and closer, the voices louder and louder.

"Where's the new guy?"

"The boy must've killed him. An aggressive slave is worth next to nothing. Cut his throat and toss him over the side."

They heard frantic crashes and scrambling, tables being knocked over and panicked voices. Graden couldn't take it anymore, he did not want a boy that young dying. He shoved up right behind Bründ and whispered to him to hasten to the boy. Bründ nodded, and went towards the voices at a brisk trot. They came to a stop at an open doorway, where Bründ peeked over the edge of the doorframe and readied himself with the sword.

Bründ rushed in quietly with Graden right on his heels. There were half a dozen guards gathered around a single spot. By the time the guards realized that Bründ was behind them, he had the sword back, ready for a full swing. Before the man that saw him could alert the others, Bründ swung the sword with all of his might. The attentive guard rolled under the blade, but the five other guards felt Bründ's wrath as the first four unarmored men were severed at the waist. Since the sword was swung at a downward angle, the blade was stopped halfway through the guard's pelvis. The sword was wrenched from Bründ's hands as the guard's body fell twitching to the ground.

The live guard looked disbelievingly at what was happening and removed his sword from its scabbard, preparing to cut Bründ down. Graden acted on instinct by ripping his dagger from its sheath and sent it spinning at the guard. Before the guard could react, the dagger flew past his sword and into his left eye. The guard screamed, dropping his sword and tried to pull the blade out. When his hand touched the handle, he screamed even louder, becoming more frantic as thick fluid flowed from his eye socket. Bründ picked up the sword, pinned the screaming guard to the wall, and thrust the metal blade through the man's heart, which immediately ceased to beat as it was split in two.

"What's goin' on down 'ere?" an unfamiliar voice said from above. Bründ scrambled to pick up a sword, and stood next to the door, back up against the wall. A chubby man came limping around the corner. He stopped when he saw all of the slaves out and about, and started hopping back towards the door, as he only had one leg and used a crutch. Bründ had slipped behind and cut off the man's retreat.

"Good sirs," the man said nervously, "I don't want no trouble."

"I don't trust this character," someone whispered into Graden's ear, "We should put him out of his misery before he tries anything."

"He hasn't done anything to earn our distrust," Graden replied, "I know what we'll do." Graden walked to the front of the group to address the man directly.

"Sir, I haven't done nothin' fer y'all to kill me so please…I beg you," the man pleaded.

"Crippled man, you will take this ship to land once you return to the bridge and you will leave us and not look back while the ship is in sight or I will kill you myself. Nor will you tell anyone we have the ship, for if anyone comes after us, you will be hunted down and killed have I made myself clear?"

"Yessir kind sir, you are most merciful good sir-"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever… Bründ, escort him back to the bridge and keep an eye on him."

"T'will be done. Let's go filth," Bründ said following the one-legged man up the stairs.

Seven of the former slaves helped out in taking weapons form the corpses and unceremoniously throwing the pieces over the sides of the ship. Unfortunately, the fourteen year old boy they sent as a distraction had his belly slashed open multiple times, the skin around his abdomen cut to ribbons, and his entrails were spilling out onto the planks. They wrapped him in a sheet taken from the guards' barracks, held a brief sending, and tipped his body into the sea.


	6. Old Captains and New Captains

Everyone enjoyed their new freedom, though it wasn't what it used to be, but the half a dozen or so women were especially glad, as even though they weren't going to the island, they were being sold as wives…to the same buyer. Graden whiled away the time by wandering the ship. He stumbled upon the cargo hold, where he found his pack with everything by it, shield, bow, quiver, sword, and dagger sheathe. There was a fair supply of food, but unfortunately, rats had made their way aboard and had their way with it. The others were alerted as to where their things were, and the hold emptied very quickly.

Eventually, Graden made his way up to the bridge, where the one-legged captain sat at a desk studying a map mounted on the wall, and a compass in his hand. Bründ was slouched in an armchair with the sword in his right hand, and a half empty bottle of rum in his left. After a short while, the captain announced that they would make land fall in around ten minutes. Graden and Bründ made their way down to where most of the people were hanging out.

"EVERYONE, MAY I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION!" Graden shouted above the noise of the crowd, who immediately quieted to hear what he had to say. "Can you all hear me? Great…within ten minutes, the ship will reach land, and the captain will leave. Then, we shall head up or down the coast for several leagues, and will land for hunting, anyone can leave the ship and get on with your lives. I however, am going to stay on the ship and try to figure out where the heck we are. Anyone is welcome to stay."

"Why can't we leave where the captain is leaving?" a voice questioned in the back.

"Because I don't trust the captain, but I guess you're more than welcome to leave with him." No one else asked any more questions, so Graden went back to wandering. After a short while, the captain came hobbling up to him telling them they were just near the coast. Graden went back to the main hold and announced what the captain told him, and several people walked up to him asking him to leave. Of course, he granted them this request and told them to meet him on the top deck of the ship. Graden and Bründ made their way to the top, and rendezvoused with the captain and the few who wanted to leave.

Graden was a good shot with his bow, and he brought it with him so if the captain looked back, he'd put an arrow in his neck. Four people plus the captain were there waiting for him when he made his way to the deck. They loaded everyone and Bründ in a rowboat and launched it from the port side. Bründ casually rowed the boat to the shore and let everyone off, then pushed the boat off and made his way back to the ship. The one-legged captain did not hesitate in turning around and flicking the ship off with both hands. Graden could not believe the old man, he gave him a chance to hop away with no harm done, where his buddies had been cut down like grass.

Infuriated, Graden strung his bow, and made his way to the stern of the ship for a clear shot. He slowly took an arrow out and strung it on the bow. He eyed the hobbling old man to measure the distance, 150 meters and growing. Bründ stopped rowing and turned around to watch, skeptical that Graden would hit the old captain. Graden pulled the arrow back as far as it would go, and elevated the bow at a high angle. There was not a breath of wind as the arrow was released. It whistled high into the air, came to a peak, arced down and raced to the ground. The old man never looked up as the tip of the arrow sank into the back of his neck, near where the vertebrae connected to the skull, and came out between his chest and Adam's apple. Immediately, the old man's hands went to the back of his neck to grasp the arrow. Doing this made him drop his crutch, and he started falling forward. The irregular weight distribution, caused his body to turn on the way down, and he landed hard on his side. Then, his body rolled onto his back, which pushed the arrow completely through. The blood flowed freely from his neck, and the old man slipped into an unconscious state from which would bring him to a permanent sleep.

Graden threw the ropes down to Bründ to hook up to the ends. Graden recruited someone from below to help him with the davit ropes.

"I owe you a drink for a shot like that friend," Bründ said, stepping out of the boat and giving him a hard slap on the back.

"Thanks," Graden replied, "I used to practice a lot."

"Right, so what's the plan now?"

"Hopefully the wind will pick up a little so we can sail along the coast and we'll hunt near a good forest, where anyone else who wants to leave can leave."

"Well thought out sir…oh, and by the way, plenty of people plan on staying and you've been made captain of this vessel."

"Oh…uh…that's…nice."

"Ya, well, I'll be seein' you below deck then yeah?" Bründ stated, giving a hearty punch on Graden's shoulder and headed below deck.

Graden tried to rub the pain out of his shoulder as he thought. _Captain? Who the hell do they think they are naming me captain? I don't know the first thing in controlling this thing. What did I do to deserve this title? All I ever did was cut their bonds, but I have no leadership qualities_. Millions of thoughts like these raced through his mind, but he decided to just stop thinking like this and count his blessings, though he couldn't help thinking of his curses.


	7. Prehunt Jitters

Several hours passed, during that time, Graden studied everything in the bridge, including a book explaining the best sailing techniques. Bründ came up eventually to tell him that a fair sized forest was a small way up the coast. _Then that's where we'll anchor and let people off_, thought Graden.

Graden gathered everyone in the main hold and told them the plan of setting foot on shore. They excitedly made their way to the top deck awaiting their departure. He took Bründ with him to the top deck to release the anchor. After the anchor sank down and brought the ship to a stop, Bründ and Graden, as well as a few other volunteers, furled all the sails. They launched all four of the boats, three holding fifteen people, and the fourth with seven, and pulled them half out of the water once reaching shore.

Graden and Bründ went into the woods to assess their situation. Springy, fifty year old oaks blocked out most of the sunlight. Small clumps of thick grass sprouted up from the sunlit areas, some of which had been gnawed by something all the way to the stem. A small creek trickled down from some hidden spring and dumped itself into the ocean behind them.

At the creek's edge, numerous footprints were embedded in the soft mud. Amongst them, Graden recognized rabbit, raccoon, possum, deer, and another set of tracks that he couldn't recognize. Bründ told him that they were boar tracks, and the best way to "hunt" them was to let them see you to lure them into charging and ram themselves into a spear. The spears one usually brought on these hunts had big spearheads and a perpendicular bar about sixteen inches down the shaft, which would stop the boar before it could gore the wielder of the spear. Graden was also told that these hunts usually consisted of at least half a dozen people, and used dogs to track and corner them.

"We'll go after deer for sure," Graden said, "but we will make some spears…just in case."

Bründ found some small dead pines, about fifteen feet long each, pushed them over, and brought them back to Graden. Graden set to work sharpening the tips and carving out handholds. They had made six spears total, which they set at the edge of the forest. Bründ went into the crowd of people, who were just sitting around talking to each other. Graden noticed several people were missing from his original count. Then Bründ came back and broke his concentration. He had five other people with him, fair sized men who looked like they could hold their ground against a charge.

"The plan will be…" Graden started, and drawing a rough map in the dirt "for you guys to circle around here," he drew a line moving parallel with the coast, but on the outside, "and spread out and come back in my direction, hopefully driving any game my way where I'll get them with my arrows. If you see any boar, you are to engage them and bring them back. Are you all clear?"

He was met with hearty nods or the shrugging of shoulders. Graden thought Bründ couldn't have picked a better bunch after he surveyed the crowd once more. The troupe set off heading north along the edge of the forest. Graden smeared mud from the creek on his face, neck, arms, shirt, and trousers for some makeshift camouflage. He knocked an arrow, stood behind an oak with two trunks protruding from the same base, and waited. The minutes went quickly at first, but then dragged on until they felt like hours. Graden was sure that a week had passed, when realistically, only an hour and a half had passed.


End file.
